


If You Wanna Use My Body, Go For It

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bodyswap, Everyone Is Alive, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Possibly Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is not in possession of his body anymore. Lydia, on the other hand, is still very much in possession of hers, even if she's not currently in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Wanna Use My Body, Go For It

**Author's Note:**

> Some very quick Stiles/Derek at the end because I like it. Title from We Are Scientists - Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt
> 
> UNBETA'ED, sorry about that guys.
> 
> No consent issues. But see the end notes if you'd rather be sure you wanna read it.

“You’re not gonna last _one_ day in my body, Stilinski.”

 

Stiles scoffs, but doesn’t look up from where his eyes are fixed on his feet. They’re in some sort of death trap.

 

“Can’t I just wear sneakers? You’ll look good in anything.”

 

“These shoes go perfectly with the top I chose. You’re wearing the heels. I may not be inside my own body right now, but I own it. Got it?”

 

Stiles finally looks up, a little nervous that if he doesn’t keep an eye on her feet-- well, really _his_ feet, now-- he’ll topple over. Lydia is looking at him with her-- _Stiles’s_ hand on one hip. She’s wearing a very tight t-shirt and some grey pants. She’s still bare foot, because she was outraged upon realizing Stiles owned only three pairs of shoes, all battered and muddy.

 

“This t-shirt is two sizes too small,” Stiles mumbles, pointing at the flat chest Lydia is now sporting. “I haven’t worn it for I don’t even know how many years.”

 

Lydia’s not listening to him, she’s smiling at her new reflection in the full length mirror of Melissa’s bedroom.

 

“I’m really tall! I like it,” she declares.

 

“Hey, _I’m_ tall.”

 

“Yes. And I like it!”

 

Stiles tries not to preen too much, but Lydia snaps at him anyway. “Stop it, you’re making a ridiculous face with my face.”

 

Melissa appears at the door, already in her scrubs. “Are you guys done in here? I’m late for work. Scott’ll be down in a sec.”

 

“Thanks Mrs McCall,” Lydia says sweetly before hugging her quickly. 

 

Melissa looks disturbed. “This is so weird, I’m leaving.” She mutters something about "supernatural bullshit" when she turns her back and leaves.

 

Stiles crosses his arms -- soft, soft arms. He has never been at ease with hugging Scott’s mom. It makes him inevitably think of his own mother and it hurts. He loves Melissa, he really does. But he doesn’t act like that around her. He just can’t.

 

“Don’t hug people I don’t usually hug with my body.”

 

Lydia sighs way too loud. “Fine.”

 

Scott knocks on the door and looks immediately at Lydia, in Stiles’s body. “Holy crap, you look good, dude.” Then, he shakes his head as he seemingly remembers. “Uh, I mean -- I forgot.  Damn, this is gonna take some time.”

 

“I look good?” Stiles asks, dumbfounded.

 

“Of course you do,” Lydia says dismissively. “Well, _I_ look good right _now_.”

 

“Are you gonna wear those?” Scott asks, pointing at Stiles’s Shoes of Death.

 

“Yes,” Lydia says before Stiles can even think of opening his mouth.

 

*

 

They arrive at school all crammed in Stiles’s Jeep. Lydia tried to drive for the first few miles, but Stiles exclaimed she was hurting his baby and made her switch.

 

“This is going to look so weird,” Scott says. “Lydia driving your car.”

 

“We’re friends now. Why not? It makes sense,” Stiles replies with a flap of his hand.

 

When they park into the school lot, he gets out of the car and promptly forgets he’s wearing heels. He catches himself at the last moment by clinging on to Scott like a weird monkey. Lydia gets out on her side of the car with all the grace and charm Stiles will never manage. He rights himself before she sees he almost fell over.

 

“Lydia?”

 

Jackson’s voice is dripping with disbelief. His eyebrows are alarmingly high on his forehead. Lydia opens her mouth automatically but Stiles is quicker to remember she’s him and he’s her.

 

“Hi!” Stiles exclaims a little louder than necessary, but stays where he is, because he doesn’t trust his ability to walk to Jackson without spraining something.

 

“What are you doing?” Jackson asks, planting himself in front of him, narrowing his eyes at Scott.

 

Stiles is still holding Scott’s arm in what seems to be more than a friendly grip.

 

“I’m-- standing,” Stiles babbles. “Here. In front of you. What are _you_ doing?”

 

Divert the conversation from him. Questions are good. They put the focus on somebody else. Yes. Questions.

 

He can see Lydia roll her eyes next to the Jeep. Scott looks like he wants to put an arm around his shoulders but he thinks better of it at the last second.

 

“I’m wondering why you’re driving that piece of crap,” Jackson says, amused, pointing at the Jeep.

 

“It’s a very worthy car,” Stiles frowns. “And I was... just... you know. Practising. For when I get my license.”

 

“We’re gonna be late for Chemistry,” Lydia interrupts, with a very firm tone of voice.

 

Jackson looks at her with a furrowed brow. Then back at Stiles, ignoring what he certainly thinks is Stiles, but is actually Lydia.

 

“I guess it’s not a bad idea. If you crash it, nobody’ll know the difference,” he says to Stiles.

 

Lydia clicks her tongue. Stiles is weirded out by the pinched expression on his own face. He seriously doesn’t understand how Jackson doesn’t recognize her.

 

“Jackson, we’re gonna be late. Let’s go,” she insists, more authoritatively.

 

Jackson’s eyes go round, and he turns to Scott.

 

“Why is he talking to me?” he demands in a fake whisper.

 

“Just go, oh my God,” Stiles pushes him lightly toward the school main entrance.

 

Jackson reluctantly obeys but walks faster than Lydia so it doesn’t look like they’re going in at the same time.

 

“We’ll have to tell him,” Stiles says to Scott as they walk to class. “Jackson is not as dumb as he looks, anyway. He’ll know. We only exchanged a few words and it's already exhausting.”

 

“Let Lydia do it, then,” Scott says with a serious voice.

 

*

 

Lydia-as-Stiles walks up to him, while he’s looking inside Lydia’s locker with an awed sort of expression.

 

“Stop it,” she hisses. “You’re looking ridiculous again! With my face!”

 

“Sorry, it’s just... I actually have access to your locker. Do you know how long I have dreamed about that? And it looks exactly like I imagined it would.”

 

“That’s pathetic and creepy,” she says. “Just grab my books for the next class.”

 

“Sorry,” Stiles says again, shaking himself before grabbing a notebook and a couple of school books.

 

All day he had felt weirdly calm and collected, not at all like his usual self. And after a few mishaps he had totally mastered the art of looking fabulous with the Shoes of Doom. Around ten he’d had a jolt of adrenaline remembering he didn’t take his dose of Adderall that morning, but quickly calmed down when he realized he was Lydia and Lydia didn’t need it -- before panicking again thinking of how Lydia was probably feeling. He had an emergency stash in his Jeep and Lydia had immediately taken the medicine, unable to stand her own jitteriness. “I felt like I was going to jump out of my skin,” she told him at one point. “Well, your skin, really. God, I get why you're so all over the place most of the time, this is exhausting.”

 

He walks with Lydia to their next class and a few people whisper on their way, probably wondering what the hell Stiles is doing with the Queen. But if Lydia minds, she doesn’t show anything. Stiles looks at her in his body and he is disturbed. First, because looking at yourself outside of your body is a once in a lifetime experience and also because it feels pretty much like hearing your own voice recorded, but a hundred times worse: it’s foreign, distant and unsettling.

 

Lydia holds herself -- well, himself really, like he owns the place. Her stride is measured, her back straight and she wears a sort of judgemental expression on his face which makes him look older than he really is. Stiles doesn’t know what he looks like as Lydia, but she makes him look good. He doesn’t recognize himself.

 

They sit next to each other in class, and Jackson scowls again.

 

Stiles can hear him ask Danny, “What the hell is whathisname doing with my girlfriend again?”

 

Danny whispers back, “I don’t know, but he looks like sex.”

 

Stiles flushes deep red and hopes to God somebody is going to open a window or something because he swears the air just got hotter. He looks like sex! Like _sex_. Ha! Hell yeah.

 

Lydia elbows him painfully in his side.

 

“Stop blushing, oh my God. Does your ridiculousness know no bounds?”

 

“But --”

 

“I heard what Danny said. Just keep in mind I’m responsible for your sex appeal right now, so don’t preen,” she whispers harshly.

 

Stiles grumbles, annoyed.

 

“You should tell Jackson or he’ll try and punch my money-maker.”

 

“Whatever, it can wait.”

 

*

 

“I’m doing my own homework Stiles, I don’t want you lowering my grades.”

 

“I resent that! I have good grades too.”

 

“You’re good, but I’m the best.”

 

Stiles puts Lydia’s books back in her locker and smirks. Of course she is. Leave it to Lydia to worry about grades when they literally swapped bodies.

 

“I don’t think we’ll have that problem anyway, it won’t last this long.”

 

Jackson and Danny stride toward them like a couple of male models.

 

“Lydia, let’s go, we had plans,” Jackson says.

 

Stiles tries to subtly look at Lydia next to him, a little lost as to what line of conduct he is to adopt.

 

“I think we need to talk,” Stiles begins with Lydia’s sweet voice.

 

Danny pales, Jackson frowns.

 

“No! No, you don’t! No talking is needed at all!” Lydia exclaims, flapping her hands in front of Stiles to make him shut up. “What Sti-- what Lydia means is that there’s something you should know. But not here. How about we all take your car and go find someplace quiet?”

 

Jackson’s face is scrunched up attractively, disbelief coloring his every move. Lydia pinches Stiles’s arm where nowhere can see it.

 

“Ow! What the hell did I do?” he exclaims.

 

“What the hell is going on?” Danny asks, ever the pragmatic.

 

“Jackson, sweetie, just wait for me outside, I’ll explain everything,” Lydia says.

 

Stiles facepalms, because she clearly forgot she is not in her actual body. Jackson’s eyes widen, and Danny looks at what he certainly thinks is Stiles.

 

“Did you just call him ‘sweetie’?” he asks, bewildered.

 

Jackson shakes his head slowly but makes his way out the door, in a daze, Danny on his heels, asking over and over, “‘Sweetie’? He said ‘sweetie’, right? I didn’t imagine that. Sweetie. He called you ‘sweetie’. Right?”

 

When it’s just the two of them in the middle of all the other students running out the hallway to go back home, Lydia pinches him again.

 

“Would you stop?” Stiles screams, rubbing the sore skin.

 

“Don’t you know you don’t tell your boyfriend, ‘We need to talk?’ unless you want to break up with him? It’s relationship 101, what the hell is wrong with you! Did you see Danny’s face? He thought I was going to dump his best friend!”

 

“Damn, okay, sorry! In case you didn’t know, I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or anything of the kind for that matter, so how should I know?” Stiles defends himself from anymore pinch attacks.

 

He puts his hands on his new hips and flicks his shiny strawberry blonde hair behind his shoulder.

 

“And you totally used a pet name for Jackson. A pet name. With my face, my mouth, my voice!”

 

Stiles is too wrapped up in his indignation to see someone has approached them.

 

“Hey Lydia, looking good,” Greenberg says, pushing the real Lydia out of the way, eying Stiles from head to toe.

 

Stiles squirms under the intense gaze. He absurdly crosses his arms to somehow hide his new boobs. He feels gross all of a sudden. Which is ridiculous because he’s Lydia.

 

“Um, hi.”

 

“Is he bothering you?” Greenberg asks him, tilting his chin toward Lydia-as-Stiles. “Pretty girl like should hang out with someone better. I’ll save you.”

 

But before Stiles can ask him to kindly back off a few inches because he’s starting to feel cornered and personal space is a thing that actually exists, Lydia pushes him away with a strength Stiles rarely makes use of when he’s actually in control of his own body.

 

“If you don’t leave us alone in the next thirty seconds I will make sure _you_ are the damsel in distress,” she says. She probably aims for an obnoxiously sweet tone, like she always does when talking to someone who is not her friend, but Stiles’s voice has a deeper timbre and it comes out weirdly seductive and sexy.

 

Greenberg blinks twice anyway, and walks away with a stunned expression on his face. Relief floods through Stiles’s limbs and he relaxes minutely.

 

“Come on, let’s go,” Lydia orders, threading her fingers through Stiles’s. He lets himself be tugged, a little surprised Lydia is willingly touching him so casually. Probably because technically she’s holding her own hand.

 

Jackson is waiting for them in the parking lot, leaning against his stupid Porsche, eyes zeroing on their linked hands. Danny is there too.

 

“Let’s go somewhere quiet,” Lydia suggests.

 

Jackson is still a bit pale and he glares daggers at her. Stiles has never been happier to not actually be in his body.

 

The ride is silent until they reach the woods. Danny tries to make conversation once or twice, but Stiles is the only one to answer everytime, so he gives up with a shrug and a smile in his direction. Ugh, Stiles as himself never manages to get that kind of smile from Danny. That is so unfair.

 

Lydia gets out of the car first, followed by the boys. She cuts right to the chase. “Jackson, it’s me, Lydia.”

 

Danny looks from Lydia-as-Stiles to Stiles-as-Lydia to Jackson-as-Jackson in an endless loop of confusion. Jackson narrows his eyes at her.

 

“Stilinski, I swear to God --”

 

“I’m not Stiles! I’m _me_. I’m Lydia. We were messing around in Morrell’s office and this happened.” She gestures to her body. "Bitch probably did this on purpose."

 

“It’ll wear off very soon. Deaton said so,” Stiles chips in. Jackson looks at Danny for back-up.

 

Danny shakes his head, eyes round. “Don’t look at me, I’m lost. But I mean, with you being a werewolf and shit, I don’t even know why I’m surprised.”

 

“Can’t you smell me or whatever?” Lydia sighs, put off. She cocks her hips to one side and crosses her arms. Stiles’s body looks really strange in such a feminine pose. He keeps Lydia’s soft arms limp by his sides, not knowing what to do with them.

 

Jackson’s face scrunches up in disgust. “I ain’t gonna smell you, Stiles.”

 

“ _Lydia!_ ” Lydia corrects him, exasperated. “I’m supposed to be the love of your life, can’t you see the difference, for God’s sake!”

 

“Ask her a question,” Stiles suggests. “Something only she could answer?”

 

To everyone’s surprise, Danny is the one to speak first. “Where did you first have sex?”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes. Why does everything always come back to sex?

 

“In your parents’ bed,” Lydia replies without missing a beat. “They walked in on us and we were banned from going at your place at the same time.”

 

Danny gapes (Stile gapes too because, ew), and turns to Jackson. “Dude, your girlfriend’s a dude.”

 

Jackson is so still Stiles is a little bit scared he’s having a seizure. He turns his ice cold stare on Stiles and looks at him from head to toe, like a guy trying to find Waldo in a sea of people. He goes as far as brushing his fingers against his hand, and when Stiles flinches, surprised, Jackson steps back, satisfied.

 

“How long is this gonna last?” he asks, breathing in and out slowly.

 

“Hopefully it will be over before the end of the week.”

 

“That is so gross,” Jackson says, shuddering. “Come on Lydia, you promised you’d come with me to go shopping.” He reaches for her hand, and tugs her to the car. Stiles can see the bemused expression on his own face. Stiles would laugh except it’s _his face_.

 

Both her and Danny stammer the weak beginning of a protestation. “But -- but --”

 

“You don’t care?” Stiles asks, actually impressed, voicing everyone’s thoughts.

 

“She’s my girlfriend,” Jackson says, looking at him with suspicious eyes. “And you got to hang out with her all day. In more ways than one,” he adds, frowning moodily at him. “We wanted to go shopping today, so we will. Right, Lydia?” He turns back to Lydia in Stiles’s body.

 

“Right,” she nods weakly, following him inside the car.

 

Danny stares shamelessly at Stiles for a minute. “What?” Stiles asks defensively, flapping his hands around for good measure.

 

“Nothing! Just -- excuse me for being a little taken aback, here. You’re wearing heels!”

  
  


*

 

“Stiles, please.”

 

“No.”

 

“Come on! It’s been too long!”

 

“Two days, Lydia. Two days! I hardly call that ‘too long’.”

 

“We’ll do it anyway.”

 

“Lydia, I swear to God, if you make out with Jackson in my body, I’ll shower with my eyes open! Come to think of it, you’ll do me -- and _yourself,_ by the way -- a huge favor because I keep slipping and bumping into various bathroom items because I can’t fucking see.”

 

Lydia scowls. Today she dressed Stiles’s body in an anthracite shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and loose black pants. His hair is carefully styled. Stiles hates her so much for making him look so good effortlessly. He, on the other hand -- and still thanks to Lydia’s coaching -- is wearing a cute floral dress with, thank fuck, _flat_ sandals. He had protested vehemently against the dress at first, but had been forced to appreciate it when the summer temperature had reached its peak around noon.

 

Scott and Allison are falling over themselves laughing at their exchange, rolling around in the grass. Derek carefully and stoically moves the picnic food away from them before they crush it accidentally.

 

Jackson is sprawled out next to him with his shades on, soaking up the sun. He looks like he couldn’t care less.

 

“Deaton said it would be over tomorrow for sure,” Stiles argues, playing nervously with Lydia’s shiny hair.

 

“Exactly! You’ll only have one afternoon of making out to endure.”

 

“We’re not looking at this the same way,” Stiles sighs, feeling his resolve crumble with each passing second.

 

“I’ll pay you if you say yes, Stiles,” Erica calls from behind him, where she’s weaving a flower crown for Isaac.

 

“Pass me the food,” Boyd tells Derek, his mouth full of bread. Boyd knows what’s up.

 

Derek does a thing with his eyebrows. “Which one?”

 

Boyd shrugs. “Any food.”

 

“Look, I promise we’ll keep it PG-13, above the belt --” Lydia begins.

 

“Well I sure hope so!” Jackson yelps, straightening up a bit so he’s leaning back on his elbows.

 

Danny snorts in the book he’s pretending to read.

 

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

 

She positively squeals, which surprisingly goes well with _his_ voice and face and Derek hides a smirk. Jackson lies back down on the grass and begrudgingly opens his arms for her to lie against him. Allison and Scott stop laughing and stare at them with the rest of the group. Danny’s not even pretending to read anymore, pages turning lightly and randomly with the wind. Stiles, on the other hand, pointedly sits down with his back to them so he’s not scarred for life. He can’t live with the image of Jackson and himself trading languorous wet kisses burned in his brain.

 

Erica takes a picture. Isaac is so enraptured in the sight of Lydia in Stiles’s body tangled with Jackson that he doesn’t protest when Erica plops the flower crown on his head. Derek whole face expresses disgust, the corners of his mouth turning down. Boyd nudges Stiles’s shoulder and offers him a sandwich.

 

“Bon appétit,” he says flatly.

 

Stiles takes the sandwich with a miserable smile. Eventually the conversations spark back up, and Danny is engrossed in his book again. Lydia and Jackson sit up, arms still around each other, but thankfully not kissing anymore. Stiles notices the faint flush on his cheeks -- Lydia’s cheeks. Fuck.

 

“That was really weird,” Derek whispers to Stiles, eyes trained on the ground.

 

“Ugh, tell me about it. I just hope Lydia didn’t sport a boner.”

 

Scott chokes on his own laugh again. Fortunately, Lydia and Jackson are distracted by Isaac and Erica and are not paying attention to them.

 

“Girls are much less likely to show it physically when they’re sexually aroused,” Derek says in a clinical tone.

 

“Well right now, she’s in a guy’s body. _My_ body. I know what I’m talking about. I’m used to boners.”

 

“Scott, breathe!” Allison says, fanning him with her hands, still giggling herself. “Stop laughing, oh my God.”

 

“Oh really?” Derek murmurs, ignoring them.

 

Stiles rolls his eyes. He’s about to tell him to shut the hell up when he hears someone gasp. Lydia’s unreasonably long hair is making him hotter than ever. He feels a weird feeling tugging at his gut and he’s breaking a sweat. “Wow, I’m not feeling so peachy right now,” he wheezes out, collapsing on Derek side. He closes his eyes, everything becoming too bright all at once.

 

“Lydia! What’s wrong?” Stiles hears Scott ask.

 

Derek, on the other hand, is leaning over him, blocking out the sun. “Stiles? Stiles, jesus fucking christ, only you! Are you --”

 

And the most bizarre thing happens. One second he can smell Derek all around him, feel his breath on his face, hear his voice right above him -- and the next he’s propped up against something more squishy, and it’s Scott shaking him. Stiles opens his eyes and he knows.

 

“Oh fuck yeah!” he exclaims, pushing a worried looking Jackson away from him. “No touchy, Jacky!” He can see Lydia's figure lying in the grass a few feet away from him, with a very tense Derek above her. 

 

Jackson looks stunned, scrambling away from him before getting up to get to Lydia.

 

“Oh, my boobs!” Lydia says. “How I’ve missed you.”

 

Scott beams at him, patting his face, his arms and his back, touching him all over. “Welcome back!”

 

“Don’t tell anyone I said that, but boobs are the worst thing ever,” Stiles whispers quickly. “Like seriously, so uncomfortable?”

 

“I’m sure Lydia is saying the same thing about your dick,” Derek chimes in, making both of them jump.

 

“Ugh, I can still taste Jackson in my mouth! Did he give me a hickey?” He bares his neck to Derek.

 

Scott is slowly backing away as Derek says in a strangled voice, “Nope.”

  
*  
  


“Sorry I made out with Jackson,” Lydia tells him when they’re back to the loft.

  
Everyone has already gone, except for Isaac, still in the kitchen. He’s on the phone with Deaton, they’re having a sass-off. “Math wasn’t exactly your _forte_ back in school huh? They went back to normal three hours ago, not tomorrow at noon, like you promised.”

 

Stiles shrugs. “Meh, it’s okay, I wasn’t there to-- uh, _enjoy_ it, so.”

 

“Jackson made me swear not to tell you anything, but I’ll tell you anyway, because I think it’s funny and also because you deserve some sort of compensation.”

 

Stiles throws a wary look at Derek, leaning against the back of the couch, watching them.

 

Lydia goes on, “He said that even though I was the one with the kissing technique, you did have very nice lips.”

 

Derek facepalms, Stiles splutters. “Well that’s -- I mean. I don’t think -- Just -- Ugh.”

 

She pecks him on the cheek before sauntering away, waving at Derek on her way out. Isaac is still arguing with Deaton on the phone.

 

“You do, though.”

 

Stiles blinks, frozen in place. “Huh?”

 

“Have nice lips. They’re okay, I mean.”

 

“Oh, uh, thanks. Wow. That’s -- Are you gonna kiss me now? Cause if you don’t I’m gonna feel weirdly disappointed and horny and cheated.”

 

A split second later, he can already feel the tip of Derek's tongue tracing the seam of his "very nice lips".

 

“Deaton, dude, I’ll call you back, Derek is making out with Stiles... I don't know, I can't really ask them, now, can I? ”

 

Stiles smiles against Derek’s lips and enjoys immensely the sound of the door closing behind Isaac.

**Author's Note:**

> Lydia makes out a little with Jackson when she's in Stiles's body after asking permission. Stiles is ok with it cause it's temporary. *shrugs*


End file.
